Kit

by S. M. West

The tail could be on her, although I’ve seen no sign of anyone following us. Unless they’ve been lying in wait?

  I shudder, tightening my jaw to hold back a curse.

  “Don’t know who supplies it. They call him the Beetle and he brings the juice.”

  “Him?” I make a right onto a residential street.

  The SUV is right behind me.

  Fuck. I grip the wheel and glance to Caro. For now she’s unaware.

  “Yeah, it’s a guy.” Logan pauses, making a slurping sound like he’s drinking through a straw. “What did you learn from Flora?”

  I give him a rundown on the conversation and stress the importance of finding Elliot. The car is still on us. “Do some more digging on who Beetle is and I’ll see what Paddy says.”

  “Sure thing, bro. I’ll call you as soon as I get something.”

  “All right. Talk later.”

  She hits end call and the black Escalade is practically on our bumper. Yeah, this isn’t some coincidence. We have a tail and I’m going to have to lose them.

  Even with tinted windows, I can see two muscled WWE rejects in the front seat. Both in black or navy jackets with white button-down shirts and dark ties. It’s some kind of uniform, with a crest or emblem embroidered in gold and white on the left breast pocket of their blazers.

  One guy’s bald and the other’s got a thick brown or reddish mustache. Both wear sunglasses.

  “Hey, listen to me.” My voice is calm, nothing like the battleground inside my head. “There’s a car following us.”

  Caro’s safety is my only concern. I rack my brain for some ingenious way to lose these assholes. We’re smack in the middle of traffic with congested streets, parked cars, and people everywhere.

  We need a miracle.

  “What?” Caro whips around to look out the back window.

  I squeeze the SUV in between two smaller cars in the next lane and the Escalade lags, no longer on our bumper but not far behind.

  What’s their goal? Follow us? Harm us? Capture us? Or worse? This must be them making good on their threat, but how the fuck did they find us?

  “Three cars back, the left lane. Black Escalade. They’ve been on us since we left the clinic.”

  I veer right onto a side street, intending to cut to another main roadway a block over and lose them in the process.

  “Do you think those are the same people looking for Elliot? Texting me?” Her voice wavers and I spare a glance; her eyes are wild and her face tight. “Did they find us?”

  As if bowled over by a tidal wave, I’m swamped with only one thought. I must keep her safe.

  “Maybe.” I swing the car left, heading south once again.

  No sign of them behind us. Yes, this could be our miracle. I gun the engine, zooming through the intersection on a yellow light as it blinks red.

  “Did we lose them?” Hope tinges her tone.

  “Shit.” I draw my lower lip between my teeth and hiss. “They’re running the light.”

  Not too far behind, there’s an eruption of horns blaring and screeching brakes. The bastards aren’t losing us. They’ll do whatever it takes, even bulldoze pedestrians or smash into other vehicles.

  “What are we going to do?” She’s panicked.

  “It’s going to be okay. Just hang on tight.” My foot presses on the accelerator, grateful for a patch of thinning traffic.

  The street is slick and the salters haven’t covered this stretch of road yet. Up ahead is Upper Canada College, a private school for boys in elementary and high school, and I’ve got a decision to make.

  The road forms a Y, with one route bypassing the college whereas the other leads toward the school, coming to a T junction at the outer edge of the school grounds. At that point, it’s left or right.

  Our SUV is only feet away from the split and if we were to continue this way, there’s no doubt the car behind would ram into us. I stay in the right lane, giving the impression we’re going straight through.

  At the last minute, I spin the wheel left onto the other road. “Fuck.”

  The Escalade cuts across the road and nearly collides with another car coming in the opposite direction. They are right on us.

  They want to do damage.

  At the bend in the road, I tap the brakes. The car starts to slide, and with a swift turn of the wheel, I prevent the fishtail. Shit. Black ice.

  The Escalade hood takes up the rearview mirror. This is more than tailgating. The SUV rams into us. My neck cracks forward, teeth rattling, and the seat belt tightens on my chest. Tires screech, metal pops and Caro shrieks.

  “Fuck, hang on.” I white-knuckle the steering wheel, the car gliding across the road as if on skates.

  Another blink and another smash. This time harder. So hard, the car takes flight and rolls. Everything outside the car tumbles around and around.

  Glass sprays, metal crunches, tires squeal, and the air bags deploy. Tires, black metal, someone’s bald head, the flash of steel, gold and red.

  The windshield splinters, spiderwebbing, the hood crumples, and Caro’s screams pierce my heart.

  Thunk. The SUV smashes onto the ground, right side up, bouncing once or twice before coming to a complete stop. My mind spins like I’m in a dryer but I’m alive.

  Caro.

  Blinking and dizzy, my fingers reach out, brushing at her hair, then her face. “Caro, you okay?”

  Soft moans come from her side of the car. Blinking furiously, my vision steadies. Head lolling to one side, against the passenger door window, she’s in one piece, no blood but eyes closed.

  I scramble to release my seat belt, inching closer to her, hands holding her face. “Babe, talk to me.”

  She stirs, murmuring and disoriented. Her lashes flutter, and clear brown eyes rest on me.

  The world stops. She’s okay.

  Whispering her name, I kiss her softly, dragging a calming breath through my body. “Caro.”

  “I’m okay. Are you?” One of her hands grips the side of my face and her touch alone melts away any pain or fear.

  But not for long.

  “Yeah, fine. We have to get out of here.”

  Did the guys from the Escalade sit around to make sure the job was done right or did they take off? Are they outside and going to make sure they finish the job?

  I turn my head, stiff and a little the worse for wear, and scan outside. Cars have stopped on either side of the road and someone’s on the sidewalk, cellphone to their ear. Hopefully, they’re calling the cops.

  A couple of people are edging toward our car. There’s no sign of the Escalade. The driver side door opens and I tumble from the car. Icy drops of snow lick at my face, coming down fast and slushy, and I shiver.

  Something warm and sticky trickles past the corner of my eye. My fingers feel along my flesh, looking for the source, and stop at a small gash along the edge of my hairline. Blood covers my digits. Head wounds always bleed like a geyser.

  A man I’ve never seen before stands to my side and takes my elbow, guiding me away from the car. His lips are moving and words are coming out of his mouth but I can’t make sense of them.

  “Caro.” My desperation impales her name and my heart rate ticks up, needing eyes on her.

  Only when she approaches me, another stranger, a woman, at her side, does my pulse slow. On shaky legs, she grabs my arm and we walk carefully from the median onto the slippery road toward the sidewalk.

  She looks okay, no signs on the outside of the crash, but she could be bleeding internally. Hasn’t she already been through enough? My body vibrates with anger.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” I croak, tightening my hold on her.

  She nods and someone reassures us that the police are on the way, and like rubber, my legs buckle and I drop to sitting on the cold, wet curb. I cling to her, careful not to squeeze her too tight in case of injuries.

  I scan the area again, looking for those motherfuckers or the Escalade. They have the advantage. They know
us, what we look like. I don’t know them and there could be others with them.

  “Did you see what happened to the car that hit us?” I ask the guy at my side.

  “The assholes took off.” He’s angry, glaring in the direction the SUV likely headed.

  “Did you get a look at them?” I hold my breath, hoping for some good news.

  “No, I was behind both of you on the road. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was like they deliberately ran you off the road.”

  I’ve got no words for him. That’s exactly what they did.

  Police, fire, and ambulance arrive and the freezing rain is now snow, thick and wet, coming down in heavy droves. I put a quick call in to Paddy to fill him in on Flora, beetle juice, and the car crash.

  Like before, I’m reluctantly separated from Caro and we’re taken to the nearest hospital in two different ambulances, where we’re checked out. The doctor gives me three stitches to the head but other than that, I’m fine.

  “We’d like to keep you overnight for observation.” The ER doctor stares at Caro, trying to muster a stern, authoritative expression despite looking like he’s never shaved a day in his life.

  “That’s not necessary.” She’s dismissive, bending her legs and digging her heels into the mattress to scooch off the hospital bed.

  Doogie Howser’s eyes dart to me, wide and pleading for backup, clearly not capable of standing up to Caro even if she is his patient.

  “Listen to the doctor.” I grip her shoulder, trying to keep her put.

  “Dr. Archer, you were concussed a few days ago and now a car accident—”

  “I didn’t hit my head in the crash, and I feel fine.” She ignores me, planting her feet firmly on the ground and glaring at the ER physician. “I am a doctor and know what to look for. Now get out of my way.”

  Caro

  “Get out of my way.” I glare at the nervous doctor, brushing the flimsy white curtain skirting the small space when I walk by him.

  The kid’s just doing his job but I’m not staying overnight. A hospital isn’t where I want to be if those men decide to come after me again. It’s too easy to get to me.

  The doctor stutters and stumbles over his words while I slip on my winter boots. Kit is quiet save for his long drawn-out exhalation, only adding to the mounting disappointment coming off him and directed at me.

  “Look.” I slip on my coat and hope my expression is more pleasant. “I’ll sign an AMA waiver, if you’d like.”

  Relief blankets the doctor’s baby face. “Great. The nurse will bring the papers.” He can’t get out of here fast enough, only stopping for a moment to look at me over his shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Dr. Archer, and good luck.”

  Kit’s expression is part grimace and part unimpressed. “What’s an AMA?”

  “Against Medical Advice.” I’m sheepish as I near him. “I’m fine. Besides, I think we’re safer out there than in here if those guys come for us again.”

  His nostrils flare and he nods, reluctantly. “Yeah, true, but I want to make sure you’re okay. In here, the doctors and nurses know what to do.”

  “I promise you, I’m okay. No headache, no nausea, no dizziness. And I’ll tell you if that changes. I just want to sleep in your arms tonight.”

  “We can do that here.” His arms wrap around my waist, giving me what I want. “You wouldn’t be alone. I’d stay with you.”

  “They might not let you stay the night.” I could kick up a stink and the hospital staff would let him stay, but right now, I’m appealing to the side of him that wouldn’t go for me being alone in the hospital.

  “I’d like to see them try.” He tightens his hold and kisses my forehead.

  The corners of my mouth quirk up, joy filling my chest. “I want to be at your place.”

  Wordlessly, he releases an arm, securing the other around my shoulder, and we go in search of the nurse. I want out of here.

  It’s a little after three in the afternoon when we leave. Outside is a blanket of snow and more is coming down. I pull my jacket hood over my head, and the glass doors rattle open as the wind raps violently against the panes.

  Holman steps onto the curb, arms hunched into his body, and he waits for us to come to him. Everything inside me locks up and I curl my lip, wanting to yell at the man. He’s the police—we should be able to count on him yet we can’t.

  “You two okay?” The man doesn’t look the least bit concerned with our well-being, more annoyed than anything else.

  “I’ve got a better question for you.” Kit leaves my side, getting into Holman’s face. “Why is a drug enforcement detective showing up for explosions, break-ins, and a hit and run where no drugs are involved?” he snarls, fists balled at his sides, and the wind whips his hair around his face. I want to join him but don’t; he’s doing a fine job on his own.

  Holman pales although Kit has neither touched nor threatened him and I pause, letting the words—his excellent question—sink in. It’s just more proof Holman has his own agenda.

  The cop gains his composure. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “We already gave our statement to a police officer. Look it up or talk to her.” Kit grabs my arm and we shuffle past him. “Do your job.”

  “What I find extremely interesting is how the two of you can’t seem to stay out of trouble.”

  Every muscle in Kit’s body is as rigid as a spinal board when he halts, slowly turning to face the detective, and I’m hyperaware this could get ugly quickly. Familiar feelings of frustration at Holman and concern for Kit stir inside me.

  I stand beside Kit, also facing the cop, angling my head in a way to buffer my face from the snow and wind.

  Holman holds a hand up in front of his face like a visor, shielding his eyes from the falling snow.

  “Tell me what’s going on, because we both know you haven’t exactly been forthright with what you know.” The cop straightens to his full height of five ten or eleven, but even still he’s no match for Kit.

  This man hasn’t provided any support to us since we first met him, and even now, he shows no signs of remorse or worry for us nor is it clear what his angle is.

  Is he doing his job? Is he here for information to share with the Beetle? Or is this about Elliot?

  “From the night we met you, it was clear Caro was in danger. First the clinic, then her home, and now the crash. I’m at a loss for how much more of a picture we need to paint for you.” Kit inches closer to the detective, body at the ready, and as much as I’d like him to hit the man, he can’t. Holman’s a cop and he could wind up in jail. I prepare to throw myself into the mix if I have to.

  “Well, since you’re convinced every one of those incidents are connected, care to enlighten me on what evidence you have?” Holman’s sarcasm is like bile eating away at an empty stomach.

  “Don’t insult us,” I snap. Policeman or not, this man is infuriating and useless. And the thing is, I can’t tell if it’s an act or if he really is a horrible cop.

  “You wouldn’t be popping up all the time if you didn’t think what’s happened so far is connected. And I’m willing to bet you have a lot more information than we do.” It’s my turn to get in his face.

  While he’s trying to keep his expression neutral, even disinterested, his brow twitches and there’s a glint of acknowledgement in his eyes that only fires my irritation. “But somehow you’re content to leave us hanging and vulnerable. When are you going to do your job? When someone winds up dead?”

  Unable to look at him much longer, I look up at Kit, who works his jaw and gnashes his teeth, nodding. Holman finally has a shred of decency and suddenly looks hangdog, shoulders collapsing and head lowered. “Look, why don’t we step inside? It’s cold and you’re getting wet.”

  Now he’s interested in our well-being? He walks a few steps toward the building and the automatic sliding glass doors open. We tense, motionless, neither saying a word, and maybe he isn’t so dumb after all.
>
  Clearly sensing our reluctance, he says, “I promise to tell you what I know. It isn’t much.”

  That gets us through the door, and the three of us huddle in the small space between the outside and interior of the hospital. For the most part, it’s private, although noisy with the wind, snow, and ice whipping around outside.

  Kit and I listen as he shares pretty much everything we already know. He’s likely holding back information, and it’s hard to say if that’s because he’s a cop and we’re civilians, or if he’s dirty.

  Either way, the little he shares softens Kit’s resolve and his tone is more agreeable when he says, “If you haven’t figured it out, Elliot Foley is the key to all of this, and I’d bet he’s setting up Caro, making it look like she’s involved.”

  “I’m aware that locating Foley is important and so far, from what we’ve found, nothing links Dr. Archer to this.” Holman leans against the glass wall of the vestibule, and a weight lifts from my shoulders, the nagging burden and fear that the police would come after me even if innocent.

  “Our resources are focused on finding Foley. We located his phone using its GPS tracking app.” He purses his weathered lips, almost as if regretting what he’s said.

  “And?” Kit raises one dark brow.

  Holman dons a suspicious frown. “It was in a dumpster on Temperance Street and his car was not too far from there, in a parking lot by The Bay on Queen. Nothing unusual or useful in the car.”

  Both locations aren’t too far from the hospital where Elliot works. The last I heard from him was the night of the clinic explosion. What’s happened since then? Maybe Flora’s right and he is dead?

  “The phone?” Kit clenches his jaw and I don’t blame him; talking to Holman is like pulling teeth.

  “Can’t say.” His lips thin and whiten to emphasize he’s said more than enough.

  “Fine. Why don't you pay Flora Brown a visit, Foley’s girlfriend. She has a lot to say.”

  Not waiting for more filler from Holman, Kit grabs my hand and we turn our backs on him. A cab idles at the curb and he opens the back door, ushering me in.

  “Should you have mentioned Flora?” I slide into the back seat, shaking some of the snow off my hood, worried Holman still holds more of the pieces to this puzzle than we do. We just gave him one more and he could arrest Flora.